The Autumn Mist
by GeoffreyF
Summary: Something's up with Kilgharrah. Aithusa wants to find out what it is, because his guardian isn't being anywhere near as annoying as usual, and it's freaking him out.


**A/N:** **I am opting for the best-case scenario here wherein Aithusa becomes Morgana's dragon (in a manner of speaking) and helps her regrow a third dimension.**

**So, er, yeah. More than a year with me MIA as far as this site goes, and then two stories in quick succession. Well, what can I say. I've been bitten by the bug again. We'll see how long it lasts. This piece, anyway, is a possible precursor (although not in a plot-sense) to a potentially whopping set of oneshots brewing away. We'll see.**

**And just as my last piece was really fluff disguised as angst, this is angst disguised as fluff (initially, at least). So, fair warning. Although the title should kind of give it away.**

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><p><span>The Autumn Mist<span>

Kilgharrah, the last dragon, had lived for a very, very long time.

Oh, all right. So maybe he wasn't the last dragon anymore. But he was very used to saying it, and Aithusa had picked up the habit. Anyway, it wasn't as though Aithusa was _really_ a dragon just yet. More like an almost-dragon. Dragons flew around on huge wings, striking terror into the hearts of helpless villagers, and burned things up with their fiery breath. Aithusa was barely the size of a house, wasn't very good at flying, and appeared so unthreatening that people _still_ tended to make "awww" sounds when they saw him. You couldn't blame him for setting the odd barn on fire, if they were going to treat him like that.

Anyway, Kilgharrah was always saying that he had lived for "years uncounted", but Aithusa was having trouble believing it. All right, yes, he himself been around for twenty years now and he was still barely nine feet from tip to tail. Dragons clearly had long lifespans. But he didn't think Kilgharrah could be as old as all that. He said so one night, when he was feeling especially adventurous.

"Why do you doubt me, youngling?" said Kilgharrah, in his "what could you possibly know about such things?" voice.

"If you're so old," said Aithusa, "you must have known _loads_ of people, right? You'd've met _tons_ of dragonlords."

"Yes," said Kilgharrah cautiously.

"Well, then," said Aithusa, "why are you so upset about this one?"

Kilgharrah glared at him, and huffed off to the other end of the beach. Bullseye, Aithusa thought to himself, but he wasn't quite sure why.

Aithusa didn't understand it. Kilgharrah didn't get upset. Not within himself, that is. He radiated disapproval for days when something didn't go the way he thought it should. (Aithusa had almost been overwhelmed by it that one time he'd picked up a Viking boat to use as firewood. Well, whatever. He still thought it had been a good idea. It wasn't as though he hadn't let the people go ... eventually.) Kilgharrah was a positive grump when it came to other people. He was always so sure of himself it made Aithusa want to hide badgers in his nest. He'd done that once. Kilgharrah had just rolled his eyes and chased him (and the badgers) out of their cave. He should have planned that one for a hot night; he hadn't enjoyed shivering on the beach.

But now, Kilgharrah seemed unsure of _himself_, and that was unprecedented. Usually, when Aithusa spied on his guardian, it wasn't very interesting. Kilgharrah just wandered around, stared out to sea for a bit, maybe tidied out their cave, went and caught a sheep or two, and generally kept things in order. All pretty boring, really. Aithusa only spied on him because he knew Kilgharrah hated it. Kilgharrah liked to say that his young protegée's adolescence was turning out to be "trying". Aithusa, on the other hand, felt it was exciting and precocious, and that Kilgharrah was just an old fogey.

But Kilgharrah was always active, that was the point. He had things to do, and prophecies to see fulfilled. That was the way it worked. Until now. Aithusa had never seen him behave so morosely. Nowadays he just lay around all day, snorting puffs of smoke out of his nostrils and watching them curl in wispy tendrils up towards the sky.

Aithusa didn't like to admit it, but he was getting concerned. He thought of going to the Dragonlord about it, but he had a feeling that this whole thing was, in some way, the Dragonlord's fault, so he went to the witch instead. He knew Kilgharrah said she was a blight upon the earth, a cancer to be destroyed, but Aithusa quite liked her. He carefully nodded along with Kilgharrah whenever she did something dreadful, though. The witch was his little secret. His own project, if he wanted to think about it that way – which he really didn't, because it made him sound _old_.

The witch's initial reaction wasn't encouraging. She threw back her head and laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, either. Aithusa tried to get her to stop it by glaring at her, and when that didn't work he set her bed on fire. That shut her up.

"What did you do that for?" she demanded, after she had put the fire out with a flash of her eyes. She was settled in a rather nice castle, nowadays, pulling the strings for some senile old lord. He hoped the bed would cost a fortune to replace; she'd never been any good at that kind of magic.

"I'm worried about him," he growled.

"Well, I'm not," said the witch. "You know he's always hated me, even before I'd done anything. He can curl up and die, for all I care." She glanced ruefully at the ruined bed.

"Morgana," said Aithusa, "_I_'m worried about him."

She turned to him, looking serious for the first time. There was a time when she never would have done that.

"All right," she said finally. "Tell me more about it. What's he been doing?"

"_Nothing_," said Aithusa. "That's the point. He just mopes around and counts clouds. It's as though he's lost it."

The witch's lips twitched. At least she looked like she was trying to hide it.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong with him, so I can fix it."

"I still find it hard to believe," said the witch, sitting down, "that you came to me about this. I mean, you know I'd like nothing better than to see him chopped into little pieces and roasted on a bonfire."

Aithusa snarled at her. "I don't have to be nice to you, you know. I could be horrible to you like everyone else. If, you know, that's what you want."

"You couldn't," said the witch airily. "You know you can't resist my charms. But anyway, my point is, wouldn't Merlin be a better person to ask about this?"

"He would," agreed Aithusa, "but I think he's part of it, somehow."

"Ah," said the witch. "Now I'm interested. But seriously, Aithusa, I don't know what I can do for you. Why don't you spy on them next time they meet, or something?"

"Meet?" said Aithusa, laughing a little at her cluelessness. "They hardly ever meet anymore. The Dragonlord has more important stuff to do, you must know ..." He trailed off. "Oh."

The witch met his eyes. "Oh," she echoed. She didn't sound delighted, and she even climbed down from her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. He knew it was beneath his dignity – he _was _a dragon, after all – but he loved her for it anyway.

"What do I do?" he asked, being careful not to accidentally scorch her neck.

"I don't know, Aithusa," she said. "I'm sorry, but I don't. Maybe you should talk to Merlin. Maybe you should talk to Kilgharrah. But each of those might only make things worse. Perhaps – and I can't believe I'm saying this – but perhaps you just have to ... not interfere."

"I can't just leave him," said Aithusa, pulling away from her. "I can't. He's ... he's _Kilgharrah_."

"Aithusa, please believe me when I tell you I'm not saying this because of how I might feel about him. But he's lived a very, very long time. You do know that, don't you? And maybe ... maybe he's done. Maybe this is it for him. Maybe you have to let him go."

Aithusa glared at her. "I won't," he told her, but he didn't feel as sure as he wanted to. "I _won't_."

The witch stood up, and wandered over to her window. "I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Aithusa," she said. "You've always been good at that."

It was a dismissal. He was a bit offended, in all honesty, but he was grateful to her anyway. It wasn't always he could get her barriers down like that, after all.

**XXX**

Idly chasing some rabbits over the moors on his way home, Aithusa told himself that he would never leave Kilgharrah, no matter what the witch said. Yes, he was growing up (although not fast enough), and one day he would be an important dragon in his own right, if only by virtue of the fact that there were only the two of them. But as much as Kilgharrah was a crotchety, self-important windbag with no sense of humour, he was still Kilgharrah, and Aithusa owed him everything. It was a little overwhelming, even just admitting that.

He formulated a plan as he raced a peregrine across the Forest of Ascetir. He would go to the Dragonlord (who surely still cared a little) and together they would orchestrate a little chaos – somewhere largely uninhabited, of course. They'd even have some fun with it; he was sure they could come up with some wonderfully original enchantments between them. Then the Dragonlord would call Kilgharrah, at a loss. Only Kilgharrah could possibly help with this horrific mess, the Dragonlord would say seriously. Honestly, the things the witch could get up to. (He'd get Morgana to play along, of course. He just wouldn't tell her the Dragonlord was playing along too.)

Kilgharrah would swoop down and survey the scene. He'd say something pompous and prophetic-sounding (Aithusa had long ago decided that he made most of that stuff up), and then would explain to the foolish young warlock exactly how to fix whatever disaster they managed to cook up. It was a perfect plan. They wouldn't even need to do it that often. Once or twice a year would be enough. Aithusa was just beginning to create a suitable new adversary – a powerful wyvern, perhaps? – as an added bonus, when he noticed ...

Oh.

That wasn't part of the plan.

Kilgharrah regarded him calmly as he came to land on their beach.

"You've been to see the witch again," he observed.

_Damn_. And he thought he'd been so careful. Hadn't he cheerily called for her demise only last week? He thought of lying, but – "Yes," he said, rather more meekly than he would have liked.

"Hmm," said Kilgharrah, but it was only mild disapproval. Aithusa should have been quaking under a furious glare right now, but Kilgharrah only gazed at him thoughtfully.

"You can't stop me," he began. "You can't. I'm big enough to do what I want now."

"Yes," said Kilgharrah, "you are."

Aithusa frowned. He should have been relieved, but he didn't like where this was going. "What?" he demanded.

"'Pardon' would be more polite," Kilgharrah observed. "But you are quite right. It's time for you to move on, young dragon."

Right. Time to stop this. "I don't want to," said Aithusa, with his best petulant pout. "And you can't make me. I _like _it here. It's my home, and you can't –"

"Aithusa," interrupted the great dragon, "thank you for that. But there is something I have to do, and it would be better for both of us if you were far away when I did it."

Aithusa struggled. He shouldn't let this go. He owed it to Kilgharrah, his guardian, to hold on. It was his duty. Maybe this was his job, his task. He would look after Kilgharrah. That could be his purpose.

But one look into Kilgharrah's eyes, and he could see that his guardian knew exactly what Aithusa was trying to do. And wasn't going to let him.

"You have a great destiny ahead of you, young dragon," Kilgharrah intoned, and Aithusa only stopped himself rolling his eyes with difficulty. It was lucky he didn't, though, because then the tears might have come out, and he couldn't let Kilgharrah see those.

"I'd rather," he mumbled instead, "have you be part of it."

Kilgharrah smiled at him sadly. "Some things are not meant to be. It is my time, now. Please. Let me go."

Aithusa knew there was nothing he could do. He could sit around and watch it happen, or he could give Kilgharrah his privacy as a final gift. His choice was clear. He just didn't think it was fair that it had to hurt so much.

He reared back, and roared into the sky. Flames launched themselves from his throat, leaping higher and higher until it seemed they took the clouds and turned them to flight. He felt Kilgharrah rise next to him, and saw the hotter, whiter fire join his own. The columns whirled around each other, blending into one terrifying, blistering tower of fire. It was the most beautiful thing Aithusa had ever seen in his life.

Eventually, the fires died, and Kilgharrah had tears in his own eyes; damn it, this was getting embarrassing.

"Thank you, young dragon," Kilgharrah said softly. "You don't know how long it is since I've done that. Remember me by it, if you wish to remember me at all."

Aithusa snorted, which he hoped conveyed adequately what he thought of that last bit.

Kilgharrah even laughed a little. "Now you should go," he said, still smiling. "Let us part well, young dragon. You must follow your own destiny, now. I know it will lead to great things."

Aithusa snorted again. He didn't want Kilgharrah to think he was buying into all that destiny nonsense. He gave his guardian a smile, though, nonetheless. He wanted to part on good terms too.

As Aithusa prepared to launch himself into the sky, Kilgharrah added, as though it was nothing, "I always regarded you as a son, Aithusa. I hope you know that."

Aithusa glared at him before taking off. Honestly, maudlin to the last. What did he have to go and say that for? It was embarrassing, that's what it was. Kilgharrah was a stupid, puffed-up know-it-all.

Aithusa didn't look back as he flew up over the cliffs and headed back towards the witch. But he whispered one last thing – one last embarrassing, ridiculous, stupid thing – and he made sure Kilgharrah heard it.


End file.
